


Zevran, Owner and Operator

by firemaiden04



Series: The Pearl [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, NSFW, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Zevran is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firemaiden04/pseuds/firemaiden04
Summary: This particular story is an installment that takes place in between chapters 5 and 6 of "Always," showing Zevran's POV about the surprise he and Alistair set up for Ellana.  There is smut.





	

Zevran Arainai was an elf of many talents.  He was a deadly assassin, a renowned partier, and a legendary lover—but few knew that he was also a fiercely loyal friend, and few expected him to be the sharp businessman that he was.  When he had decided to invest the fortune he’d amassed while fighting the Blight with the Hero of Ferelden in buying the Pearl in Denerim, most people had laughed at the idea of him owning a business of any kind, much less a strip club—formerly a very seedy strip club, and before that, a thinly disguised brothel.  Of course, when it came to buying a business, nobody was very surprised at his choice of adult entertainment.  Most people just expected him to use the club as his own personal playground, and figured he would have his fun, throwing good money after bad, and eventually run it into the ground.  But oh, how wrong they were.  Truth be told, Zevran _delighted_ in proving people wrong.

He had turned the Pearl into the most high-end club in all of Ferelden.  It rivaled clubs in Orlais and Tevinter for luxury and quality of talent—but also for fun and approachability.  The Pearl was always featured in the Top Ten Strip Clubs in Thedas lists—usually in the top five.  He was very particular about the girls on his roster, but he liked all different races and different looks.  You wouldn’t find exclusively tall, rail-thin humans with implants at the Pearl.  You’d find humans, elves, dwarves, and Qunari on his roster, waifish thin or buxomly curvy, light and dark skin, with and without tattoos—as long as they were beautiful in some way, he was open to them performing in his club. 

His favorite dancer of all was the beautiful Ellana Lavellan.  He honestly believed she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, inside _and_ out.  Their intimate relationship aside, he loved watching her work—he loved the intensity that came across her face when she performed, like she was surrendering to some darkly sensual creature inside of her.  He knew she could feel it, and although he knew Dorian had sworn up and down that she was _not_ being inhabited by a desire demon in those moments, he wasn’t entirely convinced that _something_ of the sort wasn’t happening.  He loved how she was with the customers—effervescent and at ease with herself and her surroundings, always ready for a drink and a laugh, but _always_ in control.

And of course, he loved how she was in bed.  Zevran was one of those people that are completely uninhibited in bed and unabashedly sensual; there was little he hadn’t done, and even less he wasn’t willing to try.  To his delight, he had long ago discovered Ellana was much the same.  Although he’d had much more experience than she could lay claim to, she had a natural inclination towards pleasure, and was completely comfortable with herself and her sexuality.  There wasn’t a shy bone in her body.  And what’s more, she wasn’t like so many others had turned out; Zevran had a reputation with both men and women, and people tended to throw themselves at him, but often had no inclination other than to lie back and be worshipped.  Zevran hated that sort of selfishness in a lover, but Ellana was extremely generous in bed—and the somewhat ironic end result was that, in fact, one of his favorite things to do was demand she lie back and then worship her body.

She was glorious naked—such a taut body, such smooth skin, firm muscle combined with soft curves; in _his_ mind, exactly what a woman should be.  He loved nothing more than to pin her to the bed and eat her sweet cunt for hours on end—the sweetest cunt he’d ever tasted—and hear the delightful noises she made, the plaintive cries and whimpers, the light gasps, and that one broken moan that always escaped her when she was about to come.  Yes, he loved that most of all, and would make her come again and again, almost addicted to the taste of her release on his tongue, to that _sound_ she made right before her climax—and then her muscles would tense and bunch under his hands, and her cunt would _clench_ , and then spasm and pulse around him as she wailed her pleasure to the world.  He would force her to come over and over, until she was wild with it, until the softest, lightest touch of his tongue on her clitoris would make her _scream_.   

But Ellana was not passive in bed, oh no.  She gave as good as she got.  Zevran would maintain until his dying day that she was the most talented cocksucker he’d ever encountered.  Oh, even thinking about it would immediately get him hard.  The instant she wrapped those pretty lips around his cock and began pumping him with her fist, and licking the bottom of his shaft as she went, he was immediately on the verge of orgasm.  And when he was inside of her—oh, Maker, when he was inside of her tight cunt…

Every time that he finally slid his cock inside of her, there was just the tiniest bit of a struggle to fit, because she was _that_ tight, and he loved it—loved the initial resistance, and then the final give as her body succumbed and accepted his length.  He loved making her come when he was inside of her— _loved_ the feel of her cunt clenching around him, the spasms that he could feel up and down his cock—and he loved the gamble, because as seasoned a lover as Zevran was, and as much as he prided himself on his _legendary_ control, he never knew until she was coming on his cock whether or not he could retain that control.  Sometimes he could fuck her through it, no problem, and keep going for hours afterward—and then other times, the clenching of her muscles would suddenly send him straight into his own orgasm, brutally unexpected, and he would be reduced to hoarse gasps and groans as she milked him dry. 

Best of all, years ago he had discovered that as much as he enjoyed her in bed, he enjoyed her equally as much outside of bed.  She was smart and funny and fun to be around.  She was open-minded and laid back—they could spend a night partying heavily, or they could spend the day lounging around in her living room or on her balcony, reading or watching TV.  He wasn’t the jealous type, and neither was she—they had acted as each other’s wingmen more than once, and had had numerous threesomes, with other men AND women.  Although, Zevran had to admit, it had been some time since he’d been with anyone else—nearly a year, to be precise.  The last few people he’d been with had been moderately interesting in bed and crashing bores outside of it, and he just didn’t see the point when he knew he would enjoy Ellana exponentially more in both areas. 

Zevran had always known he wasn’t built for monogamy, and he had never figured himself as the type to fall in love—but he had to wonder if what he felt for Ellana was as close as he was going to get in his lifetime.  She was his best friend.  He loved her, certainly, and she loved him—they were very open and comfortable about that—but he didn’t feel for her the wild, desperate love he knew other people experienced.  Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to be subjected to that; he had seen what being in love with Solas had done to her, had seen her misery, and didn’t envy her it.

 

The Val Royeaux attack on Sunday night had left him shaken, but that was nothing compared to what had happened to Ellana.  She’d had difficulty sleeping, and every time she finally fell asleep, she would have horrible nightmares that would wake her up, screaming and shaking and sobbing, and he would hold her and murmur to her until she fell asleep again, and the cycle would repeat itself.  He knew about her deep connection to Fen’Harel, and he knew it had been a massive shock to her to see him, alive and walking about in modern Thedas.  But he didn’t understand the nightmares, unless Fen’Harel was stalking her in the Fade (and that wasn’t outside the realm of possibility—she’d confessed to seeing the Elvhen God in the Fade before).  He’d refused to leave her side until early Tuesday evening, when she _insisted_ she was fine and practically pushed him out the door.  The end result was that Zevran spent the rest of the night brooding in his house, walking aimlessly around, alternating between wanting the news on in every room, and wanting every piece of technology turned off so that nothing could increase his worry and anxiety about Ellana.  He fell into a troubled sleep sometime before dawn, and his last waking thought was that he needed to find some way to take Ellana’s mind off of everything.  A perfect idea floated through his mind, but just before he could grasp it and start planning, he was asleep.

When he woke on Wednesday, it was unusually early for him to be up and about: only a little after 9 a.m., meaning he’d only gotten four, perhaps five hours of sleep.  Normally, he would have been nearly incapable of staggering out of bed, much less coherent thought, but he was immediately wide awake.  This in and of itself was startling enough that for a few moments Zevran just lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, brow furrowed, puzzling over it. 

Suddenly he remembered the thought he’d had before falling asleep.  With an enormous burst of energy, he leapt out of bed and grabbed his cell phone before dashing into the bathroom.  He started the water in his shower and shot a text off to Alistair before setting his phone on the vanity and stepping into the spray.  As he massaged shampoo into his scalp, he heard his text alert go off, and a large smile spread across his face. 

 

An hour later, Zevran was strolling into a coffee shop in the Palace District.  The towering spires of Fort Drakon loomed a mere few blocks to the west, the white stone edifice shining in the sunlight.  Before he entered the shop, he noted the young man standing across the street, a bag slung over his shoulder, holding a camera, eyes darting up and down the street, a hopeful expression on his face.  He was obviously a member of the paparazzi—his eyes met Zevran’s briefly before he resumed his perusal of the street, dismissing Zevran as a person of no consequence.  Zevran also took note of the two burly men dressed in black suits and ties standing outside the entrance, eyes hidden by sunglasses, wearing discreet earpieces: obviously security, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence outside this particular building.  Its proximity to both the fort and the palace meant that many high-ranking officials visited regularly throughout the day.  But Zevran recognized one of the guards, and knew that if Alistair wasn’t inside already, he would be arriving very shortly.

The latter ended up being the case, as Zevran had just taken his latte to a pair of squashy armchairs in the back corner of the shop when Alistair walked inside, another guard following him and surveying the room before taking a position along the wall close by.  The king gave him a cheerful wave before going to the counter, where a young, pretty barista was waiting.  Zevran noticed with amusement that the barista’s cheeks began to grow more and more flushed as the handsome king placed his order, and after he paid and made his way over to Zevran, she stared forlornly after him like a love-struck puppy.

Alistair, of course, was oblivious as he dropped into the chair opposite Zevran.  “Morning, Zev,” he said cheerfully, and crossed an ankle over the opposite knee as he made himself comfortable. 

“And a good morning to you, Your Majesty,” Zevran replied, eyes dancing.

Alistair rolled his eyes.  “Oh, stop with the formal shit.”

Zevran grinned.  “I should set an example, no?  We don’t want to shock your loving populace.”  He looked meaningfully towards the barista, who was approaching Alistair, drink held reverently in both hands as though she were offering a chalice to Andraste. 

Alistair smiled at her as he took his drink.  “Thanks, Shannon,” he said, friendly as ever, and completely missed the way her eyes went wide and face went white at his use of her name.  He took a sip of his latte and sighed contentedly.  “They have all kinds of espresso machines in the kitchen at the palace, but there’s just something about the way they make it here,” he explained conversationally.  Behind him, the retreating Shannon nearly tripped over a table as she made her way back to the counter in a daze.

“I’m not going to lie, Zev,” Alistair remarked, glancing at his friend with an eyebrow raised.  “I was pretty surprised to get your text this morning.  Aren’t you usually going to bed at the same time I’m getting up?”

“You know me so well, my friend,” Zevran chuckled. 

“Seriously, though, what’s up?”

Zevran set his latte aside.  “It’s about Ellana.”

Alistair was immediately completely serious.  He set his drink aside as well and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped tightly together.  “Tell me,” he demanded.

“She’s somewhat better, but still very shaken,” Zevran explained.  “I don’t know how much she’s told you about her…experiences…with Fen’Harel…”

Alistair frowned.  “I know that most Dalish only look at him as a trickster god that needs to be appeased, but she doesn’t really share that view.  And she told me a little about before she got her vallaslin, about how she had to meditate on the gods, and she kept getting distracted with Fen’Harel.  But that’s about all I know.”

Zevran shifted in his seat.  “That’s all true, but there is more to it.  When she dreams, he is sometimes there.  As in, he visits her in the Fade.”

Alistair stared.  “Are you saying that the _god_ Fen’Harel seeks her out?”

Zevran scowled.  “Evidently, yes.  They’ve never spoken, but she sees him.  He remains in the background, the Dread Wolf, and if she approaches he leaves, but he always finds her, and just watches.  She thought it was perhaps because so few Dalish ever meditate on him.  She thought that she’d gone too deep, that she’d attracted his interest.”

“Is that possible?”

Zevran shrugged.  “I am far from an expert in these matters.  Suffice it to say that Ellana believes it is possible, and because of it she is beyond certain that this apostate from Val Royeaux is truly Fen’Harel.  She recognizes the wolf, she says.  And I don’t believe even she herself knows how she feels about it.  She is uneasy and anxious and very stressed out, and she needs a distraction.”

Alistair’s brow furrowed.  “It sounds like you have something in mind.”

Zevran smiled.  “Indeed I do, my friend, but I will need your help.  I intend to finally install a flatscreen and surround sound in the premium VIP room.”

Alistair grinned.  “Wow, Zev.  Only took you what—two years to pull the trigger on this?”

“Yes, well, better late than never.  And I know that you just came in the other night, but would you be able to come in again tonight?  Ellana is working, but I don’t really think she’s ready.  I had hoped you would come in and take her to VIP and have a movie night.”

Alistair chuckled.  “Is that all?  I’d planned on coming in anyways.”

Zevran laughed.  “Then all is well and I shall continue with my plan.”

“How are you getting the system installed?”

“I bought the equipment online this morning, so I just have to pick it up at the store.  I called a few people to see about having it installed and two of them said they could maybe fit me in this afternoon, and they would let me know.”

“Fuck that, why can’t you and I do it?”

Zevran blinked.  “I’m sorry?”

Alistair leaned back in his chair.  “Why the hell can’t you and I do it?”

“…do you know how to fish wires through a wall?”

“Sure.”

Zevran raised an eyebrow.  “Really?”

Alistair shrugged.  “I’m good with that kind of stuff, and I helped Oghren set up Wynne’s surround sound years back.”

“…and the King of Ferelden has nothing better to do on a Wednesday.”

Alistair sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.  “Truth be told, I’m kind of in need of a distraction myself,” he confessed.  “I’ve been going out of my mind.  I’ve been emailing and calling back and forth with the Orlesians, but after I pledged my support and signed the order to send crews over for cleanup and security and defense planning, there was nothing much left.  I’ve got extra security on me and they’ll have my head if I try to leave Denerim.  I’m in touch with Celene, but she’s got bigger and better things to worry about than keeping me apprised of the situation.  I’ve raised security throughout Ferelden and especially in Denerim, but there’s no reports of any Venatori activity anywhere around.  So, basically, I get to sit around twiddling my thumbs while everyone else cleans up the mess.  So, no, I do _not_ have anything better to do on a Wednesday.”

Zevran watched Alistair sympathetically as the king reached over and took a long gulp of his latte.  He _did_ look a bit the worse for wear: paler than usual, circles under his somewhat bloodshot eyes, and a tightness around his eyes and mouth.  And he began to feel guilty; in his concern for one friend’s well-being, he had neglected another close friend.

“Well, my friend,” Zevran said decidedly, draining the rest of his latte in one go and standing up.  “If you truly want to help, we’d best get to it.”

Alistair grinned and followed suit, stretching when he was finally on his seat, which resulted in a nearly imperceptible sigh from Shannon the barista, who had been admiring the king’s fine figure from the counter.  “Lead on, Zev.”

 

Zevran thought Alistair would quickly regret his offer of help, but hours later, he was forced to admit he was wrong.  The king was as happy as could be in this project.  Mounting the television and speakers had been easy, but Zevran had been determined to have the wires hidden, which resulted in the extremely tedious process of fishing all the wires through the walls—a task Alistair cheerfully tackled with enthusiasm, after looking up numerous how-to videos on his iPhone to get ideas on the quickest and easiest way to go about it.  As they worked, they chatted about mundane topics and reminisced about the old days. 

At one point, Alistair frowned and gave Zevran a sidelong glance.  “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, my friend.”

“What does Ellana…what does she like?”

Zevran chewed his bottom lip as he worked, only partly paying attention to Alistair’s question.  “If you’re asking about your gifts, she’s genuinely liked everything you’ve ever given her.”

“No…I mean, like, sex.”

Zevran ceased his work and turned towards the king, eyebrows raised.  “Well, I have to say, it’s been some time since I’ve given you a sex talk, Alistair,” he said, only half teasing.

Alistair scowled.  “That’s not…I’m not asking for advice on how to do… _stuff_ …thank you very much.  I think I can find my way around the bedroom pretty damn well.”  He shifted uncomfortably.  “I just…I know that you and Ellana have sex.  A lot.”

Zevran opened his mouth but, for once, couldn’t think of anything to say.

“And I don’t _mind_ that,” Alistair said hurriedly.  “It really doesn’t bother me and I’m not jealous or anything.  It’s just…if we get to that point, I just don’t want to scare her or turn her off or anything like that.  So I figured I would just ask you if there’s anything that, you know, she really doesn’t like, or that one of her exes used to do that brings up bad memories.” 

Zevran sighed and, abandoning his work, went to the sectional, gesturing for Alistair to sit on the other side of it.  One both of them were settled, Zevran spoke slowly. 

“I am…relieved…that you are not jealous of what Ellana and I have together.  I can tell you that if you and Ellana become an item, the sexual part would end, both because of the friendship you and I have, and because Ellana is not the type to cheat.”

Alistair waved a hand dismissively.  “I never doubted that for a second, Zev.  Seriously.”

Zevran continued.  “And I appreciate that you are looking for advice, but I can just tell you this.  Ellana is very comfortable with herself, and she is not shy.  She is not the type of girl that must gently be seduced into bed.  If she wants to have sex, _believe me_ , she will let you know.  And she does not play those hard-to-get games…unless you are both on board for playing them, which is quite another topic.  She is very expressive and vocal and if she doesn’t like something, she will tell you.  You do not need to be worried.”

Alistair bit his lip and shifted.  “I just don’t want to ruin this.  And I don’t ever want to hurt her, even for a second.”

Zevran relaxed and smiled fondly at the king fidgeting on the couch opposite him.  “I can only wish you luck, my friend.  Truly.  And if it does not work between the two of you, I hope you find someone just as deserving of you.  You are a good man.”

Alistair blushed.

Delighted with the blush, Zevran leaned forward.  “Now, are you _sure_ you don’t need another sex talk?” he teased.

Alistair laughed, his embarrassment fading.  “I don’t know, Zev, I think at this point, I’ve got enough experience under my belt to give _you_ advice.”

Zevran snorted.  “That’ll be the day.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was just to help get my juices flowing for Always. I got stuck on my next chapter, but I think this helped loosen me up. Hopefully I'm back on track!


End file.
